


Silk

by RembrandtsWife



Category: Leverage
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, Hair-pulling, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Oral Sex, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 17:33:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7396930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RembrandtsWife/pseuds/RembrandtsWife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When metaphor is fact, or, Nate gets distracted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silk

Sometimes a metaphor is not a metaphor. Sometimes it's so precise, so exact, that it's simply true.

Nate feels that way about Sophie's skin. It feels like silk. Not like what people usually mean by "silky skin", but like silk, actually. The same as the expensive silk stockings she wears. The same as the garnet-colored gown she's wearing. When he trails his fingers up her back, he can't tell the difference between the gown and her bare skin.

She smells like sandalwood tonight and introduces herself as Laura Ford. He still thinks of her as Sophie most of the time, and she answers to the name. It's one of her many quirks that just as she can carry many names, assume many accents, create a rainbow of personas, she can wear a wide variety of scents with equally agreeable results. Sometimes it's floral scents, roses or jasmine, floating about her hair. Sometimes it's very elegant, very Parisian stuff, sparingly applied at the throat, wrists, behind her knees. Citrus with notes of tea or wood when she comes out on the boat with him, and a big hat to shade her face, with silk flowers round the brim.

Tonight it's sandalwood, with the garnet-colored gown and tawny gold high-heeled sandals. It makes him want to kneel in front of her and kiss his way from her perfectly pedicured toes up into the apex of her thighs. She's not wearing anything under that gown, not even stockings, and the perfectly smooth pampered skin of her cunt will be as deliciously silky as the rest of her. He'd be happy to kneel, right now, while she's talking about Vermeer and making an ass of a self-appointed expert, and worship her with his mouth, to let her twine her fingers in his hair and take out her feelings on his scalp as he eats her and drinks her and she never misses a beat in the discussion. She could do it.

Then, later, when they were alone, she'd tie him up with ropes as silky as her skin and tease him with her mouth on his cock, her pussy in his face, until he was sweating and begging and ready to come from her words alone. But she would be his merciful goddess and take his desperate cock into her pussy and let him come inside her, with her.

"Nate?"

He knows he got lost in his fantasy and missed something she said. She's tapping on the thread between them, fine as silk from a spider, the web of their relationship woven by lies and truths, risks taken and prizes won. He smiles absently, knowing he won't fool her at all.

"Sorry, love. I had a moment of wondering whether we'd left the oven on."

His fingers trail down her spine, and he still can't tell the difference between the dress and her warm, sweet, silken skin.


End file.
